Damn Her
by imaginus75
Summary: Det. Benson has a distraction disorder.
1. Chapter 1

***********  
>Damn Her<br>***********

She was slowly pacing, her words measured, her tone serious and her voice calm and controlled. She had them captivated, hanging on to her every word. This trial was in her pocket. There was no reasonable doubt left for them to cling to. I should have been listening. I should have been paying attention.

She said something about the defendant's only intention was to take advantage of the situation and the victim, not help her as he had claimed. Truth be told, the only thing that had my attention were her legs. I know it's chauvinistic and down right lewd of me, but I couldn't help it. Whenever she wore that baby blue suit with the skirt that ended above her knee and those black Jimmy Choo heels, my attention always seemed to stray where it wasn't supposed to, like the first time she ever wore that suit into our bull pen.

I was coming out of one of the interrogation rooms with Elliot and she was leaning her backside on the edge of my desk, talking to Fin and Munch. Elliot was saying something, but all I heard was white noise as my eyes locked in on her legs which were crossed at the ankles. Her calves were slender yet I imagined they were strong, and her porcelain skin, in my mind, was flawless and soft as a newborn's bottom.

"Try not to drool," I finally heard my partner whisper in my ear. Then and only then did I realize I had been gaping at her.

That moment was the beginning of my downfall. Thankfully Elliot had been the only one to notice, and unfortunately, he used it mercilessly against me every time she wore that same suit. I tried to play it cool, and over time, had even managed to force myself to stop gawking at her legs, especially whenever she was talking to me. The trick I learned was that if she was standing, I would stand beside her - thus eliminating any vantage points to sneak a glimpse of her limbs. If she sat down, I'd sit down somewhere that would place an object like a desk or table between us.

Furthermore, I had created a mantra for myself that I would mentally recite every time we were in the same room and her legs were on display - "Look at her eyes. Look at her eyes. Look at her eyes." And it served me well...for awhile.

One day, we were sitting in the bull pen and I heard the unmistakable sound of her Jimmy Choos click-clacking against the tiles in the hall. I tried to stay focused on the paperwork on my desk and knew, without looking, that my partner was smirking his ass off, knowing that I was desperately struggling not to look up as the sound of her approach grew closer.

Her light voice with an aristocratic lilt greeted us and she asked us about a case we were working on. I couldn't continue to bury my nose in the folder I had been transfixed on and forced myself to look up. I was doomed. Not only was she wearing that damn suit, she was now perched on Munch's desk, her legs crossed, one foot slightly moving as if tapping to an imaginary song. The only thought that ran through my mind was how it would feel to have those legs wrapped around my hips.

My mouth went dry; my breath caught in my throat; my heart pounded in my chest; my ears went deaf. I heard my partner's booming voice say something and was broken out of my physiological prison. *Look at her eyes. Look at her eyes. Look at her eyes.*

I looked up and froze. Her cerulean eyes were fixed on mine. I was mortified. She had caught me ogling her legs. I closed my mouth and swallowed hard. Then, the strangest thing happened. It lasted perhaps a tenth of a second but I'd be damned if I didn't see the tiniest smile on the corners of her lips before she looked away and continued to converse with my partner.

From that day forward, I developed a habit of blinking my eyes before I'd look at her, to assure myself that I'd focus on her eyes and her words and away from the rest of her body. She didn't make it any easier because she seemed to have expanded her wardrobe to include more skirt suits, and also developed a habit of sitting on Munch's desk with her legs crossed every time she wore a skirt. And every time, I swore there was a glint in her eyes and a smirk on the edges of her lips.

Damn her.


	2. Chapter 2

***************  
>Damn Her Pt.2<br>***************

They say that the sense of smell can trigger emotions or memories long forgotten. Like the smell of fresh baked cookies will take some people back to their childhood, or the rich aroma of coffee can remind some people of their first date at a cafe. I've always had a keen sense of smell. I could pick out the smell of roasting chestnuts two blocks way, or if someone has just taken off their stinky running shoes in their office after a lunch time jog. But there is no scent in the world that can stop me in my tracks like the scent of one Detective Olivia Benson.

She didn't used to wear perfume when I first met her and started working with the Special Victims Squad. I think that back then, she was still trying to fit in with the guys and didn't want to stand out, and nothing made a woman stand out amongst a crowd of male cops more than perfume. It was later on, maybe a year after we'd been working together, after one Christmas, she started wearing perfume. It wasn't a strong scented one. In fact, it was very light, sweet and refreshing. I didn't know what the scent was, but I knew it was familiar, like I had smelled it somewhere before. I liked it.

It was a noticeable change for her and I had never pegged her as the type to buy perfume, so I assumed she had received it as a Christmas gift. I had silently thanked whomever her Chris Cringle was as the scent gave her the perfect balance of femininity and tough cop persona. It suited her well. Very well in fact.

I started finding myself missing her presence every time she'd leave my office, her perfume lingering momentarily in the air. Sometimes I'd go to Serena's office to talk to her and I'd catch the remnants of her visit and feel disappointed that I had just missed her. Eventually, I'd find myself stopping dead in my tracks along the New York City sidewalks when the familiar fragrance would rush past my nose, and I'd look around me for that unmistakable head of short bed-head brown hair.

Don't even get me started on my face to face meetings with her. At first, it wasn't a problem. It was a pleasant change from the musky aftershave that the other guys wore around the precinct. But then the night when the squad went undercover at Cassie Germaine's cello concert was my undoing. Standing in the observation room with her while Terry Willard was being interrogated, the combination of her little black dress and perfume made it practically impossible for me to focus on the interview in the other room. For the briefest of moments, I closed my eyes and silently inhaled her, the image of her in the black dress forever linked to the fresh citrus notes of her perfume in my mind.

She had begun talking and when I opened my eyes, I saw her glance at me with an amused look in her eyes. I had to consciously force myself to pay attention to her whenever we conversed. "Listen to her. Listen to her. Listen to her," was my mantra from that day forward.

And from that day forward, it seemed as though she was taunting me. Whenever I had to go see her, or she came to see me, she'd always stand close to me, as if to tease me. Not unlike how she was standing next to me at this moment.

She was doing it on purpose. I swear to God she was. She didn't have to stand that close to me while she was showing me some DNA reports. She could have just handed them to me and then told me what I was looking at. But instead, she was standing slightly behind me, her hand holding up the DNA results out in front of both of us to see. She was talking but her words weren't registering with me anymore. The only thing that registered with me was that she was in my personal space, practically touching me, and her essence was making me think thoughts that weren't very work friendly.

The light sweet scent invaded my nostrils and all I could think about was how much I wanted to turn around and bury my nose in the crook of her neck, feeling her pulse point on my lips. Was this part of her grand scheme? Was she trying to get a rise out of me?

*Snap out of it!* I mentally told myself and focused back on what she was showing me.

I managed to get through our meeting and headed back to my office. I've just been imagining it all, I told myself. My attraction to her and my obsession with her perfume was just that - MY obsession. She's just going about her own business, her own life. It was I who was hung up on her and causing myself all this distress. She wasn't wearing perfume for me. She was wearing it for herself, or maybe even for a guy.

I tried to distract myself from the imaginary lingering fragrance of Olivia Benson by cleaning up my office before I went home for the weekend. Folders on my desk were put away in the filing cabinet. Loose papers were discarded into the recycling bin. I went over to the small table in the corner where I often ate my lunch and organized the mess on it. More folders, more loose papers. When I reached the bottom of the pile, I saw a receipt lying on top of a magazine. I picked it up. It was a receipt for a lunch months ago, a lunch I fondly remembered that Detective Benson shared with me while we reviewed a case for trial. My eyes then landed on the magazine upon which the receipt had been sitting. It was opened to a full page ad for Hermes Eau d'Orange Verte perfume. I picked up the magazine and the all too familiar faint citrus bouquet from the scent strip on the page wafted up to my olfactory receptors. I had been reading that magazine when she came to my office for our lunch meeting. An involuntary smile etched itself upon my lips.

Damn her.  
>*************<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

*******************  
>Damn Her Pt.3<br>*******************

I had no idea how long I hadn't been listening. I mentally shook myself awake into the present as I watched her turn away from the jury, satisfied with her closing, and walked back to the prosecutor's table. I caught her eyes briefly before she sat down in her chair; their blue gaze flashed the tiniest trace of a smile behind crystal clear glass. I never knew she wore glasses; this was the first time I had seen her with them.

I thought I had a chance at being attentive today watching her in court, giving her closing argument, because when she came into the courtroom she was wearing a black power suit - no skirt. The distraction of her legs and the way her skirts hugged her backside were absent today. Of course I'd be able to focus on her words and not zone out. Then she sat down, opened her satchel and pulled out a small black case. She slipped on the spectacles, turned, glanced around the room, caught my eyes and smiled and I knew I was doomed. I had to stop coming to court, because between the skirts and the glasses, I'd just get busted gawking blatantly one day.

"Damn, did you know Cabot wore glasses?" my partner whispered.

My mouth was too dry to speak, so I simply shook my head.

"I guess I don't have to ask if you find them as sexy as her skirts," he said, smirking; so much so that I was tempted to land a punch on his chin. "It's uncanny really. It's almost as though she knows how much you love brains and legs."

"I will slug you, courtroom or not," I warned him under my breath as the judge gave the jury their instructions.

* * *

><p>As much as I loved seeing the ADA come around to the station house, I began to dread facing her every time I'd hear the signature sound of her heels in the hallway. Before, my panic only included the thought 'Don't be wearing a skirt, don't be wearing a skirt!'. But now, my panic worked overtime. 'Don't be wearing a skirt. Don't be wearing those glasses!'<p>

My go-to safe place whenever she wore skirts had been to look into her eyes. Now those eyes were framed in dark rimmed glasses that only served to make her look THAT much smarter, and I already knew how smart she was. I didn't need the visual reminder that made my heart race faster and a slow fire burning in my belly.

I started to train myself to focus on that spot between her eyebrows whenever we'd interact, otherwise I just couldn't focus or function. Even when we argued or had a heated debate, I had to consciously force myself to be angry whenever she was wearing those damn glasses because my basic instinct would just be to pull her to me and press my lips against hers.

But just when I thought my concentration had been compromised by her vision correction, it moved to beyond repair one day when I went to see her about a warrant. It had been a few months now since she started wearing glasses and I had thought I had my tendency for distractions under control. I greeted her assistant who waved me through to her office. Her door was open by a crack so I knocked on it before pushing it open wider. She was sitting at her desk, right elbow on the mahogany surface and glasses in her hand, the end of one spectacle arm in between her pearly white perfect teeth.

Time stood still. All sounds silenced. I was frozen in place. My eyes were fixed on her mouth. I swore I must have stopped breathing too. I had no idea how long I had been staring at her but eventually I heard her voice break through the thick haze in which I had found myself. I finally broke my gaze from her lips that were now moving and looked up into her eyes.

"Olivia?" she asked, probably for the tenth time, an extremely amused look on her face.

"Perez!" I blurted out, desperate to clear up the awkward situation my lust had created. "Jose Perez. We've got him in custody. We need a search warrant for his apartment."

"Come on in; have a seat," she said, her professionalism having taken over from her earlier amusement and she slipped her glasses on. I took a deep breath, swallowed hard and entered her office. I had to use every ounce of my will power and energy to maintain my composure and professionalism.

* * *

><p>After having been caught in the headlights, so to speak, at her office, I made a conscious effort to avoid going to see her by myself at all costs. If I needed something, I'd just call, even if I was in the neighborhood and could have just dropped in at her office. So great was my embarrassment that I even took to sending Elliot to see her for warrants. When I used the excuse "I have too much paperwork to get through", he called me out on it.<p>

"Something happen between you and Cabot that you'd prefer to muddle through this stuff than go for a walk to her office?" he asked, putting on his jacket as I tasked him with yet another visit to Alex for a search warrant.

I shook my head. "No, nothing," I lied and waved a hand over my desk at the folders sitting on it. "I just have a lot of stuff to finish up."

"Uh huh," he said, unconvinced.

I heard the unmistakable click-clacking of Jimmy Choos behind me and Elliot confirmed what my hearing was telling me. "Counsellor," he said. "I was just about to go see you. You must have read my mind."

"I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd drop by to see how you were doing on the Wilson case," she said coming up beside me.

I said a silent prayer of thanks after I slowly lifted my eyes off the ground to see she was wearing pants and not a skirt.

"We've got a positive I.D.," he told her. "Now we need a search warrant for Victor Yanoff's apartment."

She looked over at me and I handed her the case file. Dammit. She was wearing those damn glasses. I looked at anything and anywhere, but at her as she read over the case notes. Eventually she finished studying the file, took off her glasses and placed the folder onto my desk, the glasses on top of them. She asked us a few more questions about the victim's identification of the suspect and once satisfied with our answers, agreed to get a warrant for us. She left and Elliot took off his jacket and sat down in his chair, happy that he didn't have to make the trek to go see the ADA.

I went to get a cup of coffee and when I returned to my desk, I saw her glasses perched on the folder she had been reading. I grabbed them and headed downstairs, hoping to catch her before she left. I was lucky and she was just waving down a taxi when I called out to her. I ran over to her and held out the spectacles.

She smiled, embarrassed and relieved at the same time. "Thank you, Detective," she said, taking them from me. I offered a smile in return and could have sworn I caught some kind of glint in her eye before she turned and got into the awaiting cab. Before the cab pulled away, she looked out the window and smiled once again. My heart skipped.

As I headed back into the stationhouse, I chastised myself for these feelings that I could only describe as an adolescent crush. I was a grown woman and I could handle the lustful thoughts I've had about her when it came to those skirts and the glasses, but these butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling I got whenever I felt her mere presence in a room or from little smiles from her, those feelings threw me off track. I told myself that I shouldn't be affected so easily by her, especially since we worked together, not to mention that for all I knew, she was straight as a nail.

* * *

><p>It had been a couple of months since I had been rendered speechless at seeing her playing with her glasses in her office and I had managed quite well to keep my distance from her as far as any one-on-one situations were concerned. Elliot continued to be my "errand boy" as he put it but in all reality, he hadn't had to make too many trips to see Alex since she seemed to come by the stationhouse more often.<p>

This afternoon was another one of those times. She dropped by to deliver an arrest warrant for us, and to talk to Finn and Munch about a case they had been working on. Thankfully we were out the door as soon as we got the warrant to pick up our suspect, otherwise I would have been subjected to seeing her perched on Munch's desk in her navy skirt suit again. I would have loved to steal glances at her toned calves, but it was a distraction that I didn't need as I was finding my lust for her had been growing stronger every time I saw her.

We picked up our suspect at his favorite watering hole and brought him back to the stationhouse, leaving him in the drunk tank for a while before interrogating him. I offered to go on a coffee run and to pick up some food for later as we'd be pulling a late one tonight, waiting for our suspect to sober up. Returning to our desks, something on my desk caught my eye.

I chuckled as I got to my desk to find a takeout menu from our favorite Thai restaurant.

"What?" Elliot asked, hanging his jacket on the back of his chair.

"Cabot forgot her glasses," I said, pointing at the item on my desk.

"Again," he said, sitting down.

I looked over our desks at my partner.

"She's been forgetting her glasses an awful lot," he added.

"They're new, she's not used to remembering that she has them," I tried to justify on her behalf. Last thing I wanted to think was that our ADA was becoming a scatter brain.

"She's been forgetting her glasses an awful lot on your desk," he said, not looking at me but at the glasses, as though he was thinking out loud. "Half the time, she remembers and comes back to get them...from you…"

I remained quiet, looking at my partner, trying to see where he was going with his mental verbalizations.

"The other half of the time," he continued, and then finally looked at me, "you see them and bring them to her. It's connivingly cute."

"What?" I asking, wondering if my partner had finally lost his mind.

Just then my phone rang. It was Alex.

"Benson," I answered.

"Olivia, hi," she said and I felt my stomach do a little flip. Dammit, how was she able to do that with two words? "It's Alex."

"Counselor, what can I do for you?" I asked, forcing my voice to not betray my reaction to the sound of her voice. My partner made no attempt to pretend he wasn't listening to the phone call.

"I'm embarrassed to say, but I seem to have misplaced my glasses this morning," she said. "I didn't happen to leave them at your precinct did I?"

"Actually, I see them on my desk right now," I answered. My partner was now smiling smugly. I gave him the menu and sternly and silently instructed him to peruse that instead of taunting me.

"Great, I'll come by at the end of the day to get them," she said, sounding relieved. "I need them for court first thing in the morning tomorrow."

"Actually, I'm heading out for a coffee run right now; I can bring them over," I said.

"That would be great. Thank you so much, Olivia," she said. Hearing her say my name, I would have brought them to her if she was in New Jersey and it was rush hour.

I hung up the phone to find my partner still looking at me, thoroughly amused.

"What?" I asked, on the edge of irritation.

"You've been sending me to do errands with Cabot for the past couple of months," he said, "but now you're happy to bring her glasses to her?"

I went over to his side of the desk and leaned back on the edge of it while facing him. "I got busted gawking at her with her glasses so I've been avoiding," I admitted quietly. "But now, she doesn't have her glasses, I have them. I won't get busted."

He nodded his understanding. "You know, last year, Dicky kept getting sick or hurt," he said, seemingly out of the blue. "Stomach ache, headache, pains in his knees, his arms. Cathy was at a loss and we kept taking him to his pediatrician but she couldn't figure out what was wrong."

"He seems to be okay now," I said and he nodded. "Did you ever find out what was wrong?"

"He had a crush on his pediatrician," Elliot answered simply.

"Okay," I said, not quite sure why my partner was telling me about his son, but I appreciated that he was sharing as Elliot wasn't always a talkative guy. "I'm glad he's okay."

Elliot simply smiled and handed me the takeout menu I had given him. "Order whatever you want; you know I'll eat it."

* * *

><p>It took a bit longer to get to Alex's office than I had anticipated because of some road construction, but nevertheless I made it. When I reached her office, her assistant was on the phone and quickly covered the mouthpiece to tell me that Alex had been called out to an arraignment. I held up the glasses and told her I was dropping them off. She nodded and waved me through to let myself into Alex's office. I dropped off her glasses onto her desk and left a note for her.<p>

I had placed the food order with our favorite Thai place near the courthouse beforehand but they were running late. Looking over at the courthouse, my curiosity and lustful desire to see her got the better of me. I walked over to the building and casually made my way over to the courtroom where arraignments were being handled. I quietly opened one of the doors and glanced inside.

I saw the unmistakable head of blond hair and tailored suit at the prosecution table making a case for a million dollar bail amount against a suspect charged with frottage of several victims. She turned to look at the suspect as she spoke and I caught her profile. Confusion washed over me. She was wearing glasses. But I had just dropped off the glasses at her empty office. I stepped back and closed the door before there was any chance she'd see me.

Clearly she had a second pair of glasses. Why was she in a hurry to retrieve the pair from my desk if she already had a second pair? As the thoughts swirled in my head, one voice came through the haze. It was that of my partner.

'She's been forgetting her glasses an awful lot on your desk...'

'Half the time, she remembers and comes back to get them...from you…'

'He had a crush on his pediatrician...'

I looked back at the closed courtroom door and couldn't help but smile and shook my head slightly.

Damn her.


	4. Chapter 4

*******************  
>Damn Her Pt.4<br>*******************

When I walked into the bullpen to deliver a warrant to the SVU squad, I was stopped in my tracks momentarily by the sight that greeted me. Detective Benson was sitting in her chair, both elbows on her desk, her hands wrapped around a Starbucks coffee cup, her mouth on the drink lid. She pulled the cup away from her lips, closed her eyes and swallowed. Then she licked her lips, looking satisfied as if she had just had the best orgasm of her life. Only one thought was on my mind: If she looked that sexy drinking coffee, what the hell did she look like during sex?

I had to shake myself from the hypnotic state in which the visual display had put me and forced myself to walk over to her. The seven steps it took to get to her desk allowed me time to reset my breathing back to a normal pattern and cure my dry mouth.

"Good coffee?" I asked, having found my wits again.

"Alex! Hi," she said, surprised to see me. "Um, yeah."

She looked like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Wait a minute...was she blushing?

"Better than the swill we get around here," she said, her tone having changed to a more jovial one.

"Hey!" Munch started to object.

"No offense, Munch," she told him. "I know you know how to make coffee but there s only so much you can do with the tins of cheap stuff that s here."

I made a mental note to either bring coffee to the station house more often, or better yet, invite Detective Benson out for coffee now that I had seen how much she enjoyed the beverage.

* * *

><p>"Detective Benson, what can I get you today?" the girl behind the counter asked, a bright smile on her face.<p>

Olivia smiled shyly and said, "Um, just...the usual, please." The girl grabbed a paper cup and scribbled something on it and passed it on down the line to the barista.

I was at once intrigued and annoyed at the curly haired brunette who apparently knew my SVU detective. I was curious as to what the usual was, but my curiosity was being buried by a strange sense of jealousy. I didn't like it that this stranger not only knew Olivia by name, but that she also knew what her usual was. Furthermore, I hated the fact that she made Olivia smile the way she did. I wanted to be the cause of and be on the receiving end of that shy smile. I bit back my jealousy and tried to play it light. I had invited her for coffee to get to know her. I couldn't let my feelings for the Starbucks barista ruin the opportunity.

"The usual?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Come here often, Detective?"

She just shrugged and smiled sheepishly. My mood lightened instantly.

* * *

><p>It was Friday afternoon and I swung by the station house after court to meet Olivia for our weekly coffee outings. Over the weeks, we had developed a sort of routine, going for coffee, just the two of us one afternoon each week. We also took turns paying each week and this week, it was my turn.<p>

I enjoyed the half hour or so that I got to spend with her each time, away from the precinct and the guys. Although we mostly talked about work, for those thirty minutes we'd sit and have coffee, I had her all to myself. Minus the smiley, cheerful greeting she always got from that barista whom I had learned was named Sara.

Sara. The thorn in my side, Sara, with her pearly white teeth and perfect smile. The Sara who would greet Olivia by name, put together her "usual" as the tough beautiful detective beside me would smile that goddamn shy smile. Sara, with her thick curly dark brown hair and dark rimmed glasses who knew Olivia's order even though after weeks, I still had no clue.

My jealousy had led me to suspect that perhaps we always frequented this coffee shop because Olivia may have had a thing for Sara. There were times when I had suggested we go to a different shop down the street but she would always insist on this one. "It's closer and their coffee is better," she had told me. All I could do was enjoy these coffee dates and hope to get to know her better. I also decided that it was time to pull out the big guns. I made sure to wear my baby blue skirt suit and black Jimmy Choo heels today. I was going to make sure she wouldn't be distracted by Sara.

I walked down the hall towards the bullpen. She must have heard my heels because she turned and looked in my direction. She smiled and any frustrations I had felt about Sara were gone. She got out of her chair and pulled on her leather jacket. I had to take a deep breath. Did she have any idea how hot and sexy she looked in that thing?

We made our way down the block to the Starbucks and as always, she held the door open for me. Although I knew we were only embarking on building a friendship, I allowed a part of myself to enjoy her chivalry, even though it would ultimately lead to my mind wondering what it would be like to be on a date with her. When we got in line, we both noticed right away that it wasn't Sara behind the counter, but a new face we hadn't seen before. I glanced over at Olivia and it was clear she was definitely more surprised than I was. I held my breath as I tried to gauge if it was disappointment I saw on her face. To my relief, it didn't appear as though she was disappointed that Sara wasn't here to greet her as usual. In fact, as we got to the counter, I couldn't help but feel as though she looked apprehensive and hesitant.

And speaking of usual, I wondered if maybe today would be the day I'd find out what Olivia's "the usual" drink was. For weeks, we had gone for coffee, and never once did I ever hear her order anything but "the usual" . I was curious as hell to find out what Olivia s caffeinated drink of choice was. I wanted to know what went into the coffee cups that she always caressed with such care and from which she always enjoyed every sip. That image of her sitting at her desk and savouring her beverage with silent ecstasy so long ago flitted through my mind.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?" the new girl asked breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Tall soy milk latte, please," I told her.

She took a cup and handed it to another girl, repeating my order out loud. She turned to look at Olivia.

"Uh, tall...light roast...extra hot, please," my usually tough and confident detective companion said quietly, pointing to the daily brew carafes behind the counter. I saw the sign on the carafe. It read "Blonde Roast".

Again, the new girl picked up a cup and turned to the girl beside her and said, "Tall Blonde, extra hot."

I wasn't sure I had heard correctly and played the scene over again in my head as I paid for the drinks.

"Tall Blonde, extra hot," one of the baristas said, placing a cup on the counter in front of Olivia.

I glanced over at my companion and noted the blush that had crept onto her face. I felt foolish that I had been so preoccupied about Sara.

Damn her.


	5. Chapter 5

***************  
>Damn Her Pt.5<br>***************

"We've got an eye witness who puts his car at the scene," I told her. "His car is in his garage. We need a warrant to get to that car." I had spent the last five minutes explaining to her all of the evidence that we had on our suspect, making a case for a search warrant on the suspect's home.

She seemed to mull it over in her mind. I was getting impatient. What did she need to mull over? Just when I was about to ask her what more she wanted, she nodded.

"Okay, I'll get you a warrant," she said.

"Thank you," I said, relieved that I didn't have to push further. I swore, sometimes it felt like she enjoyed making me work for those warrants.

Just then, there was a knock on her door. "Come in!" she called out.

The door opened and ADA Serena Southerlyn poked her head in. "Hey, Olivia," she acknowledged me with smile.

"Serena," I replied with a nod of my own.

"Ready?" she asked, turning to Alex as she stood in the doorway.

"We're heading out for lunch," Alex said to me. "Do you want to join us?"

As much as I would have liked to join them, I had to decline. "Thanks, but I have to get back to work," I said regretfully.

We all got up and walked out together, making small talk as we went. As we got into the elevator, Serena turned to me.

"Liv, do you know Detective Sam Murphy from Homicide?" she asked.

"I've seen her in the halls and she plays softball on the NYPD team with Elliot," I answered. "I've heard she's a good cop."

"What about outside of work?" she inquired.

"We've never really socialized unless you count being at the same cop bar at the same time after work," I answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Because," she answered and turned to Alex, "she was in my office earlier today going over a case and she asked about Alex."

"What?" Alex and I blurted out in unison. Realizing that my mouth had run away from me, I glanced at Alex and caught her eye for a split second.

Serena was watching Alex, a small grin on her face. "She's been asking about you, about whether or not you were single."

"Why would she be asking about me?" Alex asked, looking genuinely confused.

Serena looked amused while I felt an odd twinge of jealousy in the pit of my stomach.

"Oh my God, are you serious?" Serena asked, her eyebrows lifting high. "Alex, why would one person ask if another person was single?"

The elevator dinged, announcing our arrival on the main floor and opened up. As we got out, I chanced a sideways look at Alex and there was a touch of red on her cheeks.

"You mean she's…." Alex started to ask quietly.

"Interested?" Serena finished for her. "Yes."

"Huh," was Alex's answer, to my surprise. Despite my feelings for Alex, a part of me expected her to be straight and that she would have answered to that extent.

"I'm headed this way," I said, pointing out my direction. "Enjoy your lunch."

They said goodbye and I quickly left their company. I was curious about Alex's reaction to Det. Murphy's apparent interest in her, but I also didn't want to know how Alex felt, in case there was a mutual attraction that I didn't know about.

Det. Murphy had been on the force a few years less than me, and although I had never worked with her, I heard nothing but good things about her. She was a competent and tough cop who held her own with the guys in her squad. I had heard somewhere before, long ago, that she was gay but never paid much heed. Although she was an attractive woman with long dark wavy hair, brown eyes and had an athletic figure, she just wasn't my type. And the more I thought about her, an irrational dislike for her started to nag at me. I didn't like the notion that she had been asking about Alex.

'Maybe you just don't like the fact that she's got the balls to do what you're too afraid to do,' my mind pointed out to me.

* * *

><p>The next few days, I tried to put the whole situation out of my mind and focused on my work. I was successful at it; that was until this morning when Alex came by to deliver a warrant to Munch and Fin. She had dropped off the papers to them and had a quick visit with the squad before she left for her office. Just as she left, Elliot and I got a lead on the whereabouts of a suspect in an indecent exposure case we were working. As Elliot drove us out of the garage, I saw Alex standing outside the station house talking to Det. Murphy; and they were both looking friendly and smiling. The pangs of jealousy returned in my gut and I forced myself to look away.<p>

For the next couple of weeks, I felt like I was riding a roller coaster, my emotions up and down like a woman going through menopause. Alex came by more often and we went for coffee a couple of times a week instead of the usual once a week meeting. And every time, I'd come back to the station house on a high, having had uninterrupted time with her and her full attention during our coffee breaks.

Each time we went for coffee, although I wanted to ask her about Det. Murphy, deep down inside I didn't want to know. I could have tried to mask my curiosity with humour and teasing but I figured that somehow she'd see through it, so I steered clear of the subject of Det. Murphy. Instead, I told myself that even if something developed between them, I could, for the half hour or so that we'd spend together at the coffee shop, pretend that they weren't together and that she was there with me and that I had her all to myself. And so that thought alone would put a spring in my step after our get-togethers.

But then, it was as like Det. Murphy had a homing device on my ADA because it seemed as though every time Alex came to the precinct, I would see her and the homicide detective chatting it up outside. Truthfully, it wasn't every time, but it felt like every time. And whenever I saw the two of them together, my mood would drop and darken to the point that Elliot would refuse to talk to me until I stopped being "a temperamental bitch" as he had put it. Today, apparently I was in such a foul mood that after he parked the car in the garage at the end of the day, he turned to me and said, "Olivia, you need to shit or get off the pot. Either you pull up your big girl pants and ask Alex out once and for all, or quit her out of your system."

He got out of the car and went inside the precinct, leaving me to think about what he had said. I couldn't deny that he was right. My jealousy was beginning to affect me to the point that it was driving my partner insane. As much as I had tried to suppress my feelings for Alex, it was becoming apparent that they didn't want to be suppressed. I had been content all this time to admire the blonde attorney from afar and let my imagination run free in the privacy of my mind. But the presence of Det. Murphy on the scene was throwing a wrench in my fantasies and turning them into nightmares. I was beginning to imagine the two of them out on a date, having dinner together, taking a stroll afterwards, or god forbid, a morning stroll together in the park. I hated the idea of someone else having her attention for more than thirty minutes over coffee; making her laugh; touching her hand; or worse yet, her touching them back. The thought made me sick to my stomach.

I forced myself to stop thinking and went inside, finding my partner putting away his things and getting ready to go home.

"I'm sorry I've been a pain in the ass," I said, sitting down in my chair.

He looked at me thoughtfully and nodded. "You can make it up to me," he said.

"Sure," I agreed.

"We need another female on our team tomorrow for our game against the DA's office," he said.

"What? Elliot, no!" I protested. "Murphy's on your team. You want me to play on the same team with her?"

"Face your problems, Liv," he said matter-of-factly.

"Elliot…" I said in a half warning, half begging tone.

He shook his head. "Shit or get off the pot. I'll pick you up tomorrow at three," he said and turned on his heels, leaving the bullpen without looking back.

* * *

><p>"Thanks for coming out," Det. Murphy said, shaking my hand as I was introduced to the team. "We would have had to forfeit the game if we didn't have another female show up."<p>

I didn't want to shake her hand. I didn't want to talk to her. I didn't want to be anywhere near her. But her smile was friendly, her handshake was firm and she did seem genuinely happy to see another female on the team. I wanted to hate her, but instead, found myself placated by her charm. God, was she this charming with Alex? The thought made my stomach tighten and I excused myself to go and stretch as far away from her as possible.

While we warmed up, the DA's team started to show up. After our warm up, we huddled at our bench and despite my volunteering to play outfield, I was assigned to second base. Elliot was at first base and Murphy was shortstop. We broke away to get hydrated under the afternoon sun while we waited for the DA's team to get warmed up. I saw Serena's familiar blonde head of hair by the other team's bench and then my breath caught in my throat. Alex was beside her, but she wasn't dressed like she was going to hit the field. She looked over at our bench and waved. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement from beside me. I looked over and Murphy was waving at her. I clenched my jaw.

"Easy there," I heard Elliot whisper in my ear.

"Did you know she was going to be here?" I hissed at him.

"I had an inkling," he said, a smirk threatening to come out. "She usually comes to watch Serena play, so I figured she would be here. But we really did need another female on the team today."

"I oughta beat you with a bat," I threatened him.

"Hey, Alex!" he called out, looking behind me, ignoring my threat.

"Hey!" she said, waving as she walked closer to our bench. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white sleeveless top. I had to close my mouth to make sure I wouldn't drool down my chin.

"I'm glad you came," Murphy said to her, a wide grin on full display. Had she invited Alex to come and watch the game? I glanced back at Murphy. Dammit, she even had dimples. I hated her.

"I usually come to cheer on Serena whenever I can," Alex said and then turned to me. "Olivia, I didn't know you played."

"I, um, don't normally," I muttered. "Elliot said they needed another female." I glanced behind me but my partner had disappeared.

"They're a lucky bunch then," she said smiling.

"You haven't seen me play yet so don't speak too soon," I said, hoping that the warmth in my cheeks wasn't showing themselves.

"Good luck," she said, looking from me to Murphy. "But you know I can't cheer for you." She gave us a wink and turned and walked to the bleachers behind the backstop and found herself a seat.

The umpires arrived and soon enough, the game was underway. I eventually got into the game enough that I was actually enjoying myself, and, Murphy and I even made a few good plays together. I managed to hit a few singles and one double and I could have sworn I heard Alex's voice cheer when I hit the double. Unfortunately, we were no match for the DA's team and ended up losing to them six to four, which meant that the cops had to buy the beers after the game. We headed to a bar near the park where apparently they went after every game and put a few tables together.

I was accosted by the guys on my team to sit with them while they tried to convince me to join the team on a permanent basis. I couldn't help but notice that Alex was at the other end of the table, sitting with Serena and Murphy. She caught my eyes and raised her beer glass and gave me a smile. I smiled back weakly and raised my glass as well. I took a long drink, hoping that it would drown out the jealousy that was stirring as I saw Murphy engaging Alex in animated conversation.

After a couple of rounds, we needed refills and so I volunteered to go get some. I needed to get away from the group and away from watching Murphy put the moves on Alex. I grabbed the four empty pitchers and headed to the bar.

As I waited for the bartender to fill up new pitchers, I heard a voice from behind me say, "Nice form out there today."

I turned around and caught blue eyes looking at me and a smile that made my knees weak.

I struggled to find my voice. "Beginner's luck," I managed to say and offered her a smile. She leaned towards me and I held my breath.

"Well, if you're prone to beginner's luck, then you should try new things more often," she said. When she pulled back slightly, there was a look in her eyes that I hadn't seen before. It almost felt like she was teasing me somehow. Before I could say anything, the bartender placed the pitchers on the counter. It was then that I realized I wouldn't be able to carry all four jugs back to the tables in one trip. There was now a smirk on Alex's face.

"I thought you could use a hand…or two," she said and grabbed two of the jugs and headed back to the tables. We were greeted with cheers when we returned and I caught Serena's eye for a moment. She gave me an enigmatic knowing smile which only served to confuse me even more. I was drawn back into conversation with the guys, leaving me little time to wonder what Serena was smiling about.

The drinks kept coming and I lost track of time. The company of the guys from the precinct and the lawyers from the DA's office was quite enjoyable and kept my mind and eyes from the other end of the tables, but the knowledge that Alex was in Murphy's proverbial charming clutches was not lost on me. I felt the call of nature and excused myself to the restroom.

As I came out of a stall to wash my hands, another stall door opened and Serena came out. We stood side by side at the sinks. "You played a good game out there today," she said. "You should come out and play more often."

"Thanks, I'll think about it," I said, but my mind was screaming, 'Not in a million years! I couldn't handle seeing Murphy all over Alex after every game.'

"So…Det. Murphy is quite relentless," Serena commented.

"She's a good athlete," I said, pretending to refer to the game.

"You know that's not what I meant," she said with an all too knowing smile.

"It's really none of my business, Serena," I said quietly.

"Isn't it?" she asked, looking at me sideways. "Is that why you've been looking over at Alex every other minute all evening?"

I opened my mouth to argue but couldn't.

"Come on, Benson," she said, opening the door open and holding it for me. "Shit or get off the pot already." I looked at her quizzically and she gave me a lopsided smile. Both she and Elliot were right. I had to do something about my feelings before it consumed me, and took down everyone else around me. I had to either pull up my big girl pants or quit her out of my system.

When we returned to our tables, a quick scan told me that Alex wasn't there. I leaned over to Elliot and asked him where Alex was.

"Restroom?" he suggested. I shook my head.

"Serena and I were just in there," I told him. I looked down at the end where she had been sitting all night and Murphy was still there, engaged in conversation with Serena again already.

"Maybe she left," he said, shrugging.

I gave him a pat on his back and bid the gang goodnight. If Alex had gone home, I didn't want to stay much longer. Leaving some money with Elliot, I left the bar and walked out into the warm summer evening. I headed to the corner to hail a cab when I heard a voice call out to me, "Olivia!"

I turned to my left and saw Alex sitting on a cement pillar. I walked over to her.

"Hey," I said. "I was looking for you."

"You were?" she asked and I swore her voice sounded hopeful.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked.

She took a deep breath and licked her lips. "I just needed some fresh air and to get outta there for a bit," she answered. She paused and then asked, "You were looking for me?"

I swallowed a mouthful of air and exhaled, my breath shaking. It was now or never.

"I, um...I…" I stammered and paused, looking down at my shoes. I wanted to tell her I didn't want her dating Murphy. I wanted to tell her all the reasons why I shouldn't ask her out, why we shouldn't be involved, but then ask her out anyway. I started to construct my speech in my mind when she stood up. She looked me in the eye and slowly shook her head.

"Detective Murphy has been asking me out," she said quietly, her eyes flickered from my eyes to my mouth.

I stood motionless, holding my breath. I wanted to scream, but I didn't. She took a step and stood in my personal space, our bodies almost touching.

"Say something," she whispered, looking back into my eyes.

"Damn her," I said and gave a slight shake of my head, dismissing the homicide detective from our conversation. I leaned into her and touched my lips to hers, all thoughts of anything but the softness of her lips having left my mind.


	6. Chapter 6

****************  
>Damn Her Pt.6<br>****************

Three weeks. Four failed date attempts. This was my social life. I was beginning to think that either the universe was working against me, or Detective Olivia Benson really wasn't that into me.

Either way, it was turning me into a grouchy Alex.

That fateful night that Olivia finally kissed me, she had walked me home and asked me out to dinner for the following night. I accepted calmly and then proceeded to dance and jump with joy later on in the privacy of my apartment. I spent that night reliving the feel of her lips on mine, remembering how she felt, smelled and tasted.

The next evening as I got ready for our first date, she called, apologizing profusely. Fin had gone into the ER suffering from dehydration as a result of a stomach bug he had caught and she had been called in to cover his shift. I was disappointed, but I understood the nature of her work. She was a cop and an erratic unpredictable work schedule was a way of life. She had sounded quite disappointed herself which was of some consolation to me. So we made plans to try again the next weekend.

The week dragged by and finally the weekend came. Although she was on call that weekend, things had been quiet and so we decided to go ahead with meeting up for dinner. I pulled out a little red dress that hugged me in all the right places and met her at the French bistro we had originally picked for our first date. She looked beautiful in the little black dress that had starred in a number of my fantasies over the last few months. We made it into the restaurant. We even ordered wine. Then her phone rang. A ten year old girl had gone missing. We postponed until the next weekend.

She worked the missing girl case for a week. We managed a few phone calls whenever she was supposed to slip away for a power nap and I hadn't realized how much I had missed her voice. I didn't even get to see her when they found a suspect as it was Elliot who came to me for a search warrant and an arrest warrant while she caught some shut eye. By the weekend, they had the suspect in custody and our postponed date consisted of me watching her and Elliot interrogate the suspect through the one way glass.

A week went by and we agreed to try again. I had tickets to the symphony and so we met for dinner beforehand at the same French bistro. I opted for a black dress and she looked amazing in a blue gown. We had wine. We had appetizers. And just when I thought that we were going to make it to the symphony, her phone rang in the middle of her Bouillabaisse. There had been a rape and murder and Fin had called for her. Apparently Munch was out sick.

I saw her off into a cab with a mixture of disappointment and resignation at the fact that perhaps we weren't ever going to have one complete date. Resignation and acceptance of our failed dating life didn't ease my desire for her. In fact, our half-finished dates seemed to only tease me and make me want her that much more. She pulled me to her for a quick but promising kiss before she slid into the cab.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," she said before the taxi pulled away, leaving me standing on shaky legs.

And as she had promised, she called me a few days later and we agreed to dinner on Friday night. Even though a part of me was not expecting the date to come to fruition, I was still disappointed and plain upset when she called in the afternoon and had to cancel. The cancellation left me in a bad mood the rest of the day.

"Dammit!" I said, a little too loudly at a stubborn staple that wouldn't allow itself to be removed from some papers I was looking at. I slapped the papers onto my desk in frustration. I turned around and saw an amused Serena Southerlyn in my doorway, her coat and briefcase in hand, ready to call it a day.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, the faint smile disappearing as she saw the look on my face.

"Yes...no," I replied and shrugged my shoulders.

She came in, closed the door behind her and dropped herself into one of my guest chairs.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a motherly tone.

I sighed. I was cranky and extremely frustrated, in more ways than one.

"Olivia and I have been unsuccessfully trying to date," I told her. I received a raised eyebrow in response.

"We keep trying to have a date and she either gets called out to work in the middle of dinner, or she has to cancel, like today," I continued. "Either someone's trying to keep us apart or she's...or she's not that interested."

Serena looked at me and gave me one of her 'you're such an idiot' smiles. "Alex, I've seen the way she looks at you," she said. "She's definitely interested."

I sighed. As much as I wanted to believe her, this last cancellation had somehow been the last straw to break my hopes. "I'm just really, really frustrated right now," I said.

Serena's smile grew into a huge smirking grin. She sat upright in the chair. "You guys haven't had sex yet!" she practically exclaimed. "Oh my god, you must be ready to explode right now."

"That's putting it mildly," I said. I looked at Serena and made a snap decision to stop feeling sorry for myself. "Hey, since I'm dateless tonight, how about you and I go grab something to eat?"

"Thanks, I'd love to be your second choice," she said, over-sarcastically and then added, "But, unlike you, I do have a date."

"Ouch!" I said, feigning hurt.

"It's Friday night. You should go home, have a glass of wine and enjoy yourself," she said. "Call me tomorrow, we'll go for lunch."

I looked at the papers on my desk. "You're right," I said, giving in to her suggestion. "I'm done with all this for now." I packed up my things and we walked out together. She hailed a cab and put me into it with a wave.

"Have fun!" she called out to me and the cab pulled away as I gave her an inquiring look, unsure of how much fun I could have enjoying a glass of wine at home alone.

The traffic was unusually light for a Friday night and when I got home, I was ready to spoil myself with a bubble bath and glass of Riesling. When I got to my apartment door, I noticed that the hallway was strangely aromatic. My neighbors must have been cooking something delicious. A bout of self-pity washed over me as I thought about sitting home alone eating take out.

I opened the door to my apartment and something was wrong. My apartment was glowing. My apartment never glowed. I fumbled for my phone in my coat pocket and just then, someone came walking out from my kitchen.

"Hey, you're home," Olivia Benson said, standing in my apartment. She must have seen the shock on my face because a worried look crossed her face. "I'm sorry, did I scare you?"

I looked at her and then realized the glowing was from all the candles that were lit throughout my apartment. I vaguely registered some soft music playing in the living room. I struggled to find words.

"How?" was all I could manage.

"Serena helped me," she answered, smiling shyly. "She gave me her key to your apartment and told me to surprise you."

I was still speechless and stood dumbly in my doorway. She came over to me and closed the door behind me and offered to take my coat and satchel and hung them up. I followed her into the kitchen. The table had been set for a candlelit dinner for two, a bottle of Riesling chilling in an ice bucket. I looked into her eyes, still dumbfounded by everything.

"Serena asked how things were between us and I told her that we hadn't even had one whole date yet because I kept getting called away," she said, pouring me a glass of wine. "So she gave me your key, and I took some vacation days that I was owed and thought I'd make you dinner."

She stood in front of me and handed me the wine glass.

"You took some time off?" I asked finally having found my voice.

"I took some time off," she confirmed, moving closer to me.

"No interruptions?" I asked, hope flaring up inside me.

"No interruptions," she repeated, holding up her phone to show me that it was off.

I placed the wine glass onto the table and closed the gap between us. Her lips surrendered to mine and her hands were in my hair and on my waist, pulling me closer to her. My body melted into hers, my hands cupping her face. Her lips and tongue teased me, taking their time, each movement deliberate and precise. A fire burning in my core grew and I pressed her backwards until she was up against the fridge, dinner now long forgotten. With every stroke of her tongue, my will power diminished and soon I was straddling her thigh, while my own thigh pressed against her.

In the recesses of my mind, I heard a ringing. I pushed the sound out of my consciousness and focused on the taste of Olivia Benson. The ringing persisted.

I reluctantly pulled back as we both came up for air. "I thought you said no interruptions," I said, mildly annoyed.

"It's not mine," she said, a slight smirk on her lusciously swollen lips.

"Dammit," I said, realizing that the ringing was from my own phone in my coat pocket by the door.

Then it stopped. I smiled. I welcomed her lips again and just as her hand pulled my shirt from my skirt, my home phone rang. I broke contact with her lips, my forehead against hers, my eyes still closed, my mind willing the phone to stop.

"I think you should get that," she whispered.

"I don't want to," I pouted.

"I know, I don't want you to either," she said. "But I think someone's trying to get a hold of you."

I reluctantly and resentfully pulled away from her and grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter.

"Cabot!" I practically barked into the phone.

"Alex, sorry to disturb you but we need you," Munch's voice came through the line.

I eased up on my annoyance. "What is it, John?" I asked and saw Olivia smile and shake her head out of the corner of my eye.

"We picked up our suspect in the Jonah Brask case, the missing eight year old boy," he explained.

"He wants to talk to an ADA and make a deal."

"For what?" I asked.

"He claims the boy's alive, but he won't tell us where he is unless the DA's office offers him a deal, in writing," he replied.

I sighed. "I'm on my way," I said and hung up the phone. I turned to the detective standing beside me. "I'm sorry," I began but she just smiled and shook her head.

"It's okay," she said quietly with a lopsided smile. I tucked my shirt back into my skirt and headed to the door with her following close behind.

I put on my coat and grabbed my satchel. Before I opened the door, I turned back to her and pulled her close. "Don't go anywhere," I said. "I'll come back as soon as I can."

She pulled me closer by the lapels of my coat and kissed me slowly and thoroughly.

"I'll be here," she said in a low voice after she pulled away and released me. I willed myself to open the door and leave my apartment. I walked to the elevator, my knees weak and my underwear soaked.

Damn her.


	7. Chapter 7

***************  
>Damn Her Pt.7<br>***************

I all but threw my satchel onto my desk with a loud thud and shrugged off my jacket. A few annoyed glances turned my way briefly but then returned to their work or conversations without comment. I sat down in my chair and pulled the folders out of my bag. I opened the file on top of the pile, slowly went through it and began to work on my quarterly report for Cragen.

We had whined about it when we were first told we had to turn in quarterly status reports on our cases. Our time was better spent on the cases themselves than to summarize or recap them for some bureaucratic pencil pusher. Cragen had let us know that he had pushed back on the demand from the brass from monthly reports to only have us give quarterly reports. So out of respect and appreciation for our Captain, we begrudgingly acquiesced.

Because of our workloads and the paperwork that often piled up on our desks, these status reports often ended up being completed afterhours or on weekends. My tendency to procrastinate often resulted in me sitting up late at night to put together my reports the day before they were due. Cragen had not so gently reminded me this morning that I had to get this quarter's report to him by tomorrow morning so he could review it before he had to submit it by the end of the day.

I looked across at my partner's desk. He too was a procrastinator. Case files littered the surface of his desk, but his chair was empty. I checked my watch. It was just after 9 pm. He must have gone out for a coffee.

"What are you doing here?" my partner's voice called out in surprise from the bullpen entrance.

I held up the case folder I was reading. "Same thing you are," I answered.

"I thought you were gonna try to work at home," he said, setting his coffee cup on his desk and sliding off his coat.

"I forgot some stuff here," I lied, "so I figured I might as well just stay here and finish up."

"I would have gotten you one if I'd known you'd be back," he said, indicating his coffee.

I gave a quick shake of my head. "It's okay," I said. "I just want to finish this."

We quietly dove back into our reports. I hadn't forgotten anything. In fact, I had everything I needed and had gone to Alex's apartment to have a nice quiet dinner. I had been reluctant to leave the station house as that was where I was best able to focus. Whenever I tried working at home, I'd get distracted by the tv or the fridge or the internet. At my desk, there would be no distractions. However, she had promised me a quick and simple dinner, after which it would be a working night for both of us. I could work on my report while she would work on her closing arguments for a couple of her cases. We both had work to do and not being at my own apartment should prove more productive.

So after dinner, I had made myself comfortable, as comfortable as possible, at her kitchen table while she sat on the couch with her case papers strewn about the coffee table. It was quiet, we were each in our own worlds, undistracted. That was until out of the corner of my eye, I saw her take off her glasses and bite her front teeth down on a temple tip while in deep thought. After a brief moment, she pulled it from between her teeth, licked her bottom lip, put her glasses back on and started writing furiously on her legal pad.

I turned my attention back to my report and was able to concentrate for a while as she continued writing. Then she ran a hand through her hair that kept falling into her face while she was writing, proceeded to pull her long blond tresses up into a haphazard bun and stuck a pencil into it to keep it in place. Her lean bare neck brought back memories of how I had kissed it earlier this morning when I had woken her up. I could feel the smooth and softness of her skin on my lips just thinking about it. My throat suddenly felt dry and I half coughed, half choked.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern etched on her brow. Was that a glint in her eye?

I nodded. "Dry throat," I answered. "I'm getting some water. Want some?"

She shook her head. "No thanks," she said and stood up and stretched. She was still in her skirt and top from work. She moved some cushions around on the couch and as she bent down to pick up her notepad from the coffee table, I couldn't help but appreciate how her skirt hugged her backside so perfectly. I swallowed a mouthful of dry air and remembered that I needed to hydrate myself. By the time I got settled back down at the table with a glass of water, she had made herself comfortable on the couch by reclining on it lengthwise, her legs outstretched, her feet crossed at the ankles.

She appeared to be reading and re-reading her summations, every so often closing her eyes as though she was practicing her speech from memory. I forced my attention to the task at hand, but somehow, my eyes kept wandering back over to her long lean bare legs. Those legs that I had lusted over for so long; those legs that were always smooth and silky; those lithe legs that were deceptively strong when wrapped around my hips. I felt a pounding in my chest and a distinct throbbing start below the belt. I tore my eyes away from her limbs and emptied my water glass in one long drink.

I chastised and reminded myself that I had to have this report done tonight and on Cragen's desk first thing in the morning. In the past I was usually hyper-focused when it came to these quarterly reports, but tonight that focus seemed nowhere to be found.

'Eyes on your report,' I repeated to myself over and over again, 'eyes on your report.'

I was making progress on my concentration and the report when she sat up and put her papers away.

"I need a break," she announced and stood up. "I'm going to take a quick shower."

I wasn't even half way through my cases yet. This was perfect. If she was out of the room, I'd have a better chance at getting through these folders. "Okay, I'll be here," I told her, avoiding looking at her, thus avoiding any temptation to join her.

As soon as she was out of view, I dove into my work, taking advantage of the lack of distraction to get as much done as possible. I had managed to make some progress when I heard the shower shut off and continued to keep my eyes on my work when eventually I felt her presence. She came into the kitchen and walked past me.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked, heading to the cupboards.

Against my better judgement, I looked up and over at her. She was wearing a tight white tank top and very short baby blue pajama shorts. She had a cupboard open and was reaching up to grab a mug. When she turned around, it was evident that she was not wearing a bra. Her hard nipples were straining against the cotton of her shirt. My mouth went dry.

"Olivia?" she asked, snapping me back to attention. "Tea?"

I silently shook my head and found my voice. "I, um, I forgot some, uh, files at work," I stammered. I started to gather up my papers and folders. I needed to get out of that apartment before I got distracted any further and the report was forgotten by the wayside. It took every ounce of will power in me to not slide all the papers off the table and take her right there and then. "I'll just, uh, finish up there."

"Oh," she said with a slight look of disappointment. "You can't get them and bring them back here?"

"Uh, well, if I'm already heading back there, I, uh, I might as well just finish up there," I said, closing up my satchel. "Cragen needs my report first thing in the morning."

So with my lie and hasty retreat, I found myself back at the stationhouse, sharing in the misery of paperwork with my partner. He too was hiding from distraction at home, albeit a different kind of distraction with four kids at home.

"Oh hey, did Alex find you?" Elliot asked as he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his back, his hands clasped over his head.

"Huh?" I asked, half confused, half listening.

"She came by earlier in the afternoon looking for you," he explained. "She wanted to see if you were free for dinner."

"Oh yeah, she did find me and we did have dinner," I answered.

He returned to his previous position, hunched over his work. "Well that's good. I told her that we had our reports to work on," he said and held up a folder. "Told her that when it came to these, you're always full steam ahead and nothing distracts you, not even food."

And then he had a weird smile on his face. "Funny though, I swear she took that as a challenge," he said shaking his head and returned to his work.

'Challenge,' the word echoed in my head. She didn't. She wouldn't. The more I thought about it, I realized that I had never seen that tank top or short shorts before. All those little distractions all night. She'd done it on purpose.

Damn her.


	8. Chapter 8

***************  
>Damn Her Pt.8<br>***************

I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help myself. The idea that a simple text could distract or get my detective worked up, entertained me to no end. Besides, it wasn't wrong to text my own girlfriend about my attire. Maybe 'unfair' would be a better word to describe it. And, it was her fault really. She started it.

It had been a week since we had seen each other because of my caseload and her work schedule. I was slipping into bed when she called, having gotten some time up in the crib. Instead of taking what little downtime she had to catch some shuteye, she called me, telling me that she wanted to hear my voice when she fell asleep.

But sleep was far from her mind when she asked me what I was wearing. Instead of telling her, I sent her a picture of my red lacy underwear, which she thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated. Thus started my sexting habit. I enjoyed taking the pictures and I enjoyed sending them to her even more, especially when she was at work. She had voiced her frustrations about how distracting the photos were and how sometimes they even made her blush, which did not go by unnoticed by the guys. However, I had noted that never once did she ever tell me to stop.

Often, a result of my "inappropriate" messages was that they left her in a state of frustrated arousal. I, being the cause of said arousal, happily benefited from her visits at the end of the day when she'd come knocking at my door, horny as hell.

"Do you have any idea how distracting your texts are?" she once asked in between kisses while lying between my legs. She then proceeded to distract me from answering by giving me multiple orgasms.

The next day, I had a full day in court. I had left her in the morning with a parting comment of, "I hope you don't get too distracted today!"

"Careful, Alex," she had called out after me as I left my apartment, "payback can be a bitch!"

The morning flew by with two allocutions, one as part of a plea bargain, and the other was for pre-sentencing of a defendant found guilty of sexual harassment of a coworker. After a brief lunch break, my afternoon started with some arraignments in Judge Petrovsky's courtroom.

As the docket number was called and the defendant was brought in with his lawyer, I saw Olivia and Elliot enter the courtroom and take a seat. She gave me a small smile and I instantly felt a flutter in my stomach. Good, God, if one smile from her gave me butterflies, what would a text about her underwear do to me? I suddenly felt overwhelmingly guilty for distracting her the way I did with my messages.

I put all thoughts aside and forced myself to focus on my work. I read out the charges and out of the corner of my eye, I saw my phone, sitting on my folders, light up. I finished speaking and quickly glanced at my phone. A text message flashed on the screen.

*I bet Petrovsky's a granny panty kind of gal.*

I choked on my own saliva. I looked over to the gallery while trying to calm the spasms in my throat. She sat there, straight faced.

"Miss Cabot, are you alright?" I heard Judge Petrovsky's voice call out to me.

The coughing subsided and I managed to answer her in the affirmative with a nod, unable to meet her eyes.

"The people's thoughts on bail?" she asked.

I kept my eyes on the defendant. "Fifty thousand, your honor."

Thankfully the defense attorney nodded in agreement.

I glanced back over to the gallery and there was a small smirk on her face as she slipped her phone into her jacket pocket. I supposed payback was a bitch indeed.

Damn her.


	9. Chapter 9

***************  
>Damn Her Pt.9<p>

***************  
>I looked in the mirror, the water running down my face, into the sink. I stared into my reflection, counting the droplets as they dripped off my chin. Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five. Thirty-five. Thirty-five. I was thirty-five. I turned thirty-five today. As a cop, I should have been happy to have lived to see another birthday. Instead, when I woke up this morning, I wanted to do nothing but roll myself up in my blankets and dwell on the fact that I was thirty-five.<p>

Truth be told, as a child growing up, I never saw myself past the age of twenty-five. It wasn't that I envisioned myself dying at twenty-five – I just never saw a future past twenty-five. It was an odd thing really.

But here I was, ten years into "the unknown years". I had told Alex about this when she tried to pull me out of bed. She teased me, saying "Get up and make the most of your day since you're living on borrowed time." She finally coaxed me out of bed and into the shower by challenging my abilities and stamina in my "old age".

After the shower, while she was changing into one of her skirt suits, I sat on the bed, wrapped in a towel. I used to never care about birthdays or my age for that matter, but as I watched her pull on her pantyhose over her long and firm twenty-eight year old legs, it finally hit me that I was getting older.

I found myself thinking back to when I was in my twenties and comparing how my body had changed over the years. I used to be able to run ten miles every morning, no problem. These days, I was tiring out by the eighth mile and would have to push myself through the last two, wondering why I would torture myself this way. I also used to be able to eat half a pizza or Chinese takeout for two without gaining a pound. These days, I swore I could see even one slice of pizza go straight to my thighs or ass.

"You're staring at my ass," Alex said, a smirk on her face.

"Sorry, I was thinking about my own ass and how to keep it from drooping," I said, feeling sorry for myself.

She came over to the bed and leaned down, bringing her lips to mine. "I think your ass is perfect the way it is," she said after she gave me a slow kiss and pulled away.

"It's no twenty-eight year old ass," I said, my hands having gravitated to grope hers.

"No, it's not," she said with a wink and grin. She loved it that I was older; loved to rub it in that no matter how old we got, I'd always be older. "Get dressed or you'll be late for work."

"I don't wanna go to work," I whined. I released my hold on her backside and flopped backwards onto the bed. "I just want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and pretend I'm still twenty."

"Then I'd be thirteen and that's just…" she said.

"Ew," I said, scrunching up my nose.

"Exactly," she agreed. "Come on, spinster, get dressed and let's get you to work."

When I got to work, my mood did not improve one bit as I took in the sight of my desk. All around my desk and on top of it were pink flamingos and a banner strewn along the edge that said "Happy Birthday!" All I could do was stand beside my chair and eye the guys to see which one of them was responsible. One by one, I scanned my eyes over my fellow detectives. John, Fin, Elliot. None of them would look at me.

"Okay, which one of you did this?" I asked, irritated. My question was met with silence and continued eye avoidance. I picked up the flamingo that was on my chair and tossed it down beside my desk. I flopped down onto my chair, mumbling, "I shoulda stayed home today."

I studied the mess on and around my desk. "There's only thirty-four birds here."

"What?" Elliot asked, looking up from his paperwork and then turned to John. "John, I told you thirty-five!"

"Yeah, and that's what I told the guy," John answered, shrugging.

I looked at both of them with a "gotcha" look and they realized they'd been had.

Elliot, John and Fin came over and gave me birthday hugs, despite my protests to not make a big deal of it.

"Now you're considered mid-thirties," Elliot teased me as he sat back down at his desk.

"Oh god, don't remind me," I groaned.

Just then, a voice called out "I'm looking for Olivia Benson?"

I looked over at the entrance and there was a young man holding a bouquet of flowers. I grudgingly held up my hand. "I'm Olivia Benson."

He came over and handed me the clipboard to sign for the flowers and then handed over the elaborate floral arrangement. Even though I was initially dismayed that someone was reminding me, yet again, that I was growing older, the flowers were beautiful, and I allowed myself a moment of indulgence and inhaled their sweet aroma.

"Nice flowers," Fin commented from his desk.

"Thanks," I replied. I pulled open the enclosed card.

"Happy 35th Birthday, Liv. If every birthday started the way this one did,

I'd want every day to be your birthday. Love, Alex."

I smiled. My mood lightened a little. Not much, but a little.

"Something interesting in that card?" Elliot asked with a smirk.

"Elliot, if you had a hot young girlfriend like Liv does, wouldn't you smile too?" John asked and Elliot shrugged and nodded.

Hot. Young. Girlfriend. Those words brought me back down to reality. She was young. And hot. And I was growing older.

"Enjoy it now 'cause next thing you know, you'll blink and then it'll be the big 4-0," Elliot said with a wink.

My mood wasn't so light any more.

After work, we had gone home to Alex's place and the guys and their spouses came over for a birthday dinner. There were plenty of jokes about growing older as well as many stories that always seemed to have a hilarious punchline at my expense. The wine and beer flowed freely and everyone was well fed.

By the time all the guests had left, we cleaned up briefly and headed off to bed. Alex was changing in the bedroom while I washed my face in the bathroom. The water dripped off my face. I looked in the mirror and studied the lines I saw.

If I squinted, crow's feet adorned the corners of my eyes. If I grinned or grimaced, there were lines around my mouth. When and where did these lines come from? I hated them. I wanted them gone. They just reminded me that I was growing old. My eyes focused onto the reflection behind me. She was leaning on the doorframe, a smile on her face.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked.

"Not long" she answered and stepped through the doorway. She came up behind me and stood close. Her arms snaked around my waist. Her chin rested on my shoulder.

"I have lines," I finally said, looking down from the mirror, unable to meet her sparkling blue eyes.

"What?" she asks for clarification.

"I have lines," I repeated, finally meeting her gaze in the mirror. I demonstrated. I squinted, I grinned. I inwardly cringed at the telltale signs of my aging. "I have lines near my eyes. I have lines around my mouth."

She studied my face intently and after an almost unbearable length of silence, she turned me away from the mirror to face her. "I love the lines around your mouth," she said, barely above a whisper, her eyes on my mouth.

"How can you say that? They make me look old," I said, no longer feeling sorry for myself, but truly feeling old.

"Because those are laugh lines," she answered, holding my eyes, her thumb caressing the edges of my lips. "And when we're together and I see them, it means that I've put them there. I always want to see your laugh lines because it means you're happy."

I couldn't help but smile. "Thank you," I said. "Thank you for everything today – the wake up call, the flowers, the dinner. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "Now come to bed."

"In a second," I told her. She released me and headed into the bedroom. I watched her retreating back. I had woken up this morning ready to be bitter and full of piss at the fact that I was thirty-five years old, but in a matter of seconds, she made my insecurities disappear and made me feel loved.

Damn her. I'm in love.  
>***************<p> 


End file.
